


you've got all the ingredients (except you loving me)

by Zari_x_Charlie (SuperSanversShipper)



Category: Green Arrow and the Canaries (TV)
Genre: (may he rest in pieces), Angst, Canon Compliant, Dinah-centric, F/F, F/M, I'm sorry I wrote this y'all..., No beta we die like Oliver, Pining, Sad Ending, Sad Pining, dinahsiren-centric, sad yeehaw clown emoji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperSanversShipper/pseuds/Zari_x_Charlie
Summary: Dinah expects it to hit in a moment — a split-second realisation, a bullet to the heart, a wave crashing against a cliff — but it doesn’t. Instead, it hits gradually — over the course of nights in and days spent patching each other up, over takeout and undercover ops on Laurel's arm, before Dinah finally understands what's been hitting her all along.ORDinah is in love with Laurel.
Relationships: Dinah Drake/Earth-2 Laurel Lance, background Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Tommy Merlyn
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	you've got all the ingredients (except you loving me)

**Author's Note:**

> so. if you’re here, i assume you have read all the tags for this. because if you didn’t, make sure you read them.
> 
> anyway, i wrote this months ago bc i was on twitter, and @DlNAHSIREN was like “hey i have a really sad thought abt dinahsiren but im not going to post it because i dont want to make yall sad,” which was really nice and sweet of her, but i am…. a heathen and i asked what the thought was and she said “what if dinah likes laurel but laurel doesnt feel the same?” and i was like “what a horrible thought that no one should ever turn into a story in the dinahsiren tag.” 
> 
> except i just did. welp. good luck.
> 
> uh this is. trash writing. but i need to get back in the groove of like. posting more. so. yh. this is what it is.
> 
> title from cake by melanie martinez

Dinah expects it to hit in a moment — a split-second realisation, a bullet to the heart, a wave crashing against a cliff — but it doesn’t. Instead, it hits gradually — over the course of nights in and days spent patching each other up, over takeout and undercover ops on Laurel's arm, before Dinah finally understands what's been hitting her all along.

She writes it down.

_1\. Just friends don’t have to stop themselves from staring at their friend’s lips or ignore the way their heart is pounding every time their friend stands too close._

During parties, undercover on Laurel’s arm, trying to avoid staring at the way the suit or the makeup or the occasional rebellious choker or tie accentuates the length of Laurel’s neck and the knife-edge of her jawline. During training sessions, watching beads of sweat carve a river through hard, taut muscles or feeling far too happy to pin Laurel against the ground at the end of a long sparring match. During late movie nights, curled up together underneath thick blankets and dimmed lights, talking over the plot of whatever half-baked action movie they inevitably had to compromise on.

The latter, those soft, half-drunk nights are the ones that Dinah finds herself lingering on the most — on the feeling of Laurel wrapping herself around Dinah because she’s _like a hot-water bottle_ and _it’s not my fault I’m always cold, Dinah_. Or worse, wrestling with Laurel for the remote — inevitably ending on top of her after she grabs the remote and tries to change the channel to some horror movie or the other. 

Dinah shakes her head — no use in getting lost in those memories. She twirls the pen in her hand once, taking a second to think before putting the pen to paper once more.

_2\. Just friends don’t get jealous when their friends go out on dates_.

They don't plaster on fake smiles when they offer to listen to date play-by-plays, not like Dinah does when Laurel flops onto the couch with sparkling eyes and excited gestures, beer half-forgotten as she describes sunsets and fireflies and all the things that Dinah wishes she could be with her for. They don’t sit in the middle of the living room on date nights with pens clutched in their hands and write out lists about all the more-than-friendly feelings they have for their friends, the way Dinah is doing right now.

Just friends, Dinah knows, is about as far from an honest descriptor for how she feels about Laurel as sound is from silence, but it’s the common denominator between what she feels about Laurel and what Laurel feels about her.

_Just friends,_ Dinah thinks, dropping her pen and leaning her head against the back of the couch so that the only things she can see are the ceiling and the very top of the huge clock-windows to her right, _maybe even best friends, but nothing more._

_Nothing that means anything._

Dinah hears familiar voices coming down the hall moments before a key slots into the lock, and instinctively, Dinah flips over the page she had been writing on. The door swings open moments later, revealing Laurel, a soft grin on her face.

"-was really fun," Laurel is saying, and Dinah reminds herself to plaster on a convincing smile as Tommy responds with a, "It really was," before he turns to greet Dinah.

"Hey, Dinah."

Dinah nods back, answering, “Hey, you two,” through the pain of holding up a false smile, “How’d it go?”

“Great,” Laurel says, and her smile is blinding.

Tommy just laughs at the sight, all blushes and heart-eyes, and Dinah finds her smile softening a little as well — at least until her eyes catch the paper on the coffee table before her, reminding her of exactly _why_ her heart is thumping so heavily against her ribs. She glances away, letting her smile drop for just a second so she can _breathe_ , before plastering it on again, knowing that neither Laurel nor Tommy would have noticed, as focused as they are on each other.

When she glances up again, Tommy is glancing at the sleek band around his wrist, face apologetic, and Dinah knows that if she looks over at Laurel, she’ll find a similar expression of disappointment.

“I have to go,” he says, the smile on his face a little softer, an apology. A goodbye.

“I know,” Laurel answers in a half-sigh, her eyes already a little dimmer, “I’d hate for Sara to have to kick your ass just because you were a few minutes late.”

“Yeah,” he answers with a short laugh, his fingers fiddling with the touch screen on the band, reluctantly glancing away from Laurel to put the correct settings into the device. He glances furtively down the hall, like he always does even though he’s aware that Laurel and Dinah don’t have any neighbours, before pressing a button and opening a portal from Star City 2040 to its 2020 counterpart.

He turns around once more, reluctance clear on his face, before it transforms into something far more playful. Dinah’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, and a quick look at Laurel reveals a similarly flummoxed expression on her face.

“Good night,” he says in a horrible British accent that manages to pull a laugh not only out of Laurel but out of Dinah as well, “good night, parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall bid you good night until it is morrow.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Laurel laughs, and a part of Dinah — some part barely peeking out from beneath the curling, churning feeling in her stomach — is certain she’d gladly stand by and be forced to watch Laurel and Tommy date if only to see her smiling the way she is, “you _nerd_.”

Tommy simply bows in response, his own despondent expression replaced by a beaming grin and lightly flushed cheeks as he stands up again. With a quick two-fingered salute, his grin softens again, before he turns and walks into his apartment, the portal hissing to a close behind him.

Laurel lets out a big sigh, a goofy grin that Dinah knows better than to mention lighting up her face as she moves to close the door before turning.

“So, how’d your night go?” Laurel questions, pushing off the door to come over and sit on the couch’s armrest next to Dinah, leaning so close that Dinah can smell a hint of her usual date-night perfume — something deep and smoky and intoxicating — as it slowly fades away, so close that it’s all that Dinah can handle to stop herself from leaning back and breathing in the scent, “What’s the paper for?”

“Oh, uh,” Dinah stumbles for a moment, mind too consumed by her best friend’s ( _best friend_ , she reminds herself) proximity to come up with a typically witty response, “I was going to write a grocery list.”

“A grocery list?” Laurel raises an eyebrow with an expression of mock-offence on her face, “Are you trying to say that I don’t do a good job with grocery shopping?”

“What? No! _Definitely_ not. I’m just saying that _maybe_ I prefer the BBQ over sour cream and onion.” Dinah answers, her forced laugh a little too rough and a little too bitter and little too biting, and she half-worries and half-hopes that Laurel will be able to tell. 

“Oh, shut up,” Laurel rolls her eyes, oblivious as ever, and Dinah silently wonders if she’s more relieved or disappointed. “ _No_. Those are disgusting and you _know_ it.”

Relief wins out over the disappointment. Dinah just shakes her head in response, her smile still pinched and foreign but softening once more. “Sure, Laurel.”

“Gross,” Laurel sticks out her tongue playfully, before standing up and stretching, “Anyway, I’m gonna go change. You up for a movie night or are you gonna spend all night working on a terrible grocery list?”

Her breath catches in her throat at that — Laurel is offering her the chance to curl up under blankets on the couch and snicker at the guys holding guns incorrectly in dumb action movies and to catch the gentle waft of _that goddamn perfume_ _again-_

_No_. She can’t. Not when she’s just spent the evening ripping her heart out in an effort to _stop feeling_ the way she does about Laurel. 

Instead, Dinah rolls her eyes and picks up the pen once more, trying to hide the way her hands shake and her face hurts from the act she’s putting on, “Well, I can’t exactly keep surviving on sour cream and onion Pringles, now, can I?”

Laurel shakes her head in mock-exasperation as she slips up the stairs, the sound of her clunky steel-tipped boots fading as she moves away. When Dinah is certain that Laurel cannot see her any longer, she lets out a soft, shaky breath, reaching over to the coffee table and flipping over the piece of paper once more. She presses the pen against it again, swallowing against the lump that's somehow found its way into her throat.

_3\. Just friends don’t fall in love with their friends._

**Author's Note:**

> so whats yalls favourite flavour of chips? im in complete agreement with laurel — sour cream and onion is great and bbq is just gross. also, chips with ketchup? or hummus? or applesauce? i sometimes have nachos (like just the chips) with applesauce and they taste pretty good. let me know if yall have any weird/fun chips and dip combos pls, im bored.
> 
> also, while im not a tommy/e2 laurel shipper, i will! not! stand! for tommy merlyn slander. pls leave my second-favourite himbo alone.
> 
> anyway! talk to me abt chips or yell at me for this story in the comments, on my tumblr (behrad-tarazis), or my preferred method, on twitter (@behrad_tarazis).


End file.
